A Whiter Shade of Pale
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: Spence's twin Sophie returns to Rosewood after 18 months in Paris. Bullied by Ali since she was 5, Sophie returns with a new attitude, culinary skills, a blog and the desire to see no bully go unpunished. A CalebxOC story.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.**: This is a CalebxOC story, but it starts at episode 1x03 and goes from there; I won't go into detail about the Liars' storylines, but I will be putting Sophie into a few of them; also, some of the storyline arcs will be different because I'm rejigging the episodes, and Sophie will ask questions the girls don't seem to think of, like asking Toby why he covered for the girls.

I was going to call this story 'Glitter in the Air' after the _P!nk_ song, because it really influenced this story, but I read some of the blurb for _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ and the Procol Harum song is referenced, and I love it as used in _The Boat That Rocked_ (2009). I'm going to make it Sophie's stoned song.

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**A Whiter Shade of Pale**

_01_

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Kicking and screaming and swearing profusely, that was how she returned to Rosewood. Unwilling, to understate the matter.

She hated it. She hated the weather, the quiet; she hated the huge, obnoxious American cars; the enormous roads and cookie-cutter houses; she hated the lack of specialty shops selling cheese and chocolate and bread; she hated the isolation, and the lack of culture; she hated the newness and at the same time the pretentions toward legacy status as one of the older towns in Pennsylvania. She hated the lack of refinement and the contrasting wildness and crumbling, forgotten old-world charm and _character _of Paris.

She felt like she was going on vacation; everything was new and awkward, slightly unreal and definitely alien.

Sophie was _not_ appreciative of being dragged 'home'.

But she wasn't unhappy about her new nearness to her grandmother; she lived in Connecticut, just a short drive away, and after spending the last year Skyping with Grandma and her bowtie-wearing grandfather, after having had very little contact with them before that, Sophie was excited to go and spend some more time with her grandparents. She had been an honorary member of her grandmother's book club, and all of the mah-jong and Bunco ladies and their daughters followed Sophie's blog; she had started it to give Jason something with which he could keep up with her goings-on in Paris, and then her grandmother had found out about it, and all of Sophie's friends in Paris read it too, even her grandmother's friends in Paris. People who went to her _Etsy_ shop discovered the link to her blog, and she liked to think she was making a difference with some of her posts.

People said she was opinionated and funny, that her references to her parents and elder-sister Melissa as, respectively, "the Führer", "Madame Kovarian" and "Voldemort" were hilarious, and she had email-requests a mile long to cover different topics in her future posts.

The last post had been a tirade against the dictators; "Mom" and "Dad". They had dragged her back to Middle-of-Nowhere, Pennsylvania, once her student, and then tourist visas had expired. Sophie had clung to Europe with her freshly-manicured fingertips as long as she could; she had returned on a transatlantic flight a week after Rosewood High had started for the year, and had spent all of her summer, and the previous school-year and summer, travelling around Europe.

All of her belongings had arrived back in Pennsylvania halfway through July; after finishing her six-week intensive course at _Le Cordon Bleu_, Sophie had packed a huge rucksack, and made her way around Belgium, Germany, Austria, Italy, Spain and Greece with school-friends. They had taken a tent, a two-ring camping stove, and a washing-line to hang up their laundry to dry. Sophie had photographed and baked her way across Europe, collecting recipes where her flourishing language-skills had permitted her to ask for recipes of particular regional specialties, even learning to make them in restaurant kitchens if the owner had taken a shine to her; they had visited the museums and galleries, traipsed sore-footed around all of the most ancient archaeological sites; learned to scuba-dive and fish off the coasts of Greece and Italy, respectively; watched bull-fighting in Spain and got thoroughly sickened by it; but they had also visited England one last time, for several music-festivals, before taking in a Shakespeare play in London and returning to Paris via _Euro_-_Star_. She had even managed to catch _Adele_ live at the Royal Albert Hall, which had been exactly what she had wished for her birthday! When they hadn't been taking a train to save on journey costs instead of flying, they had discovered some cheap vintage bicycles, and cycled their way around from campsite to campsite. It had burned off all the calories they had put on, yet Sophie knew she was no longer the dark sylph she had been as a younger teen; she was no Spencer, who now was so skinny it was almost worrying.

It was strange that, having been pushed out of Rosewood by crippling loneliness and soul-crushing torture from Alison DiLaurentis, Sophie hadn't _missed_ Spencer. Before last year, she had been crippled by her loneliness over missing her twin, who had been _verboten_ from inviting Sophie to the girls' get-togethers, or even talking to Sophie, by Alison; her depression during freshman year had been horrific, but after a year in Paris, not talking to anyone in her family but Grandma and Grandpa, and _trying_ to think of nice things to say to Jason to console him over the loss of his sister, it was with a brand-new attitude and a completely different outlook on life that Sophie returned to Rosewood.

She hadn't spoken to her sisters or her parents in over a year, since early last June; it was a staggering realisation, but Sophie knew, had known for a while now, that she didn't need them. All that angst and depression over being the invisible daughter, bullied and terrorised by not just Alison but by Melissa, paling in comparison to hardworking, straight-A Spencer, it hadn't done her any good. And she didn't need to carry the weight of needing her parents' love and attention and approval around with her; it was exhausting, and she was sublimely happy now that she knew who she was and didn't have to wonder what her parents would think.

Her grades were far superior now that she enjoyed school: in Paris, her lessons had been absolutely enthralling, and they learned real things; the study of literature devoted to specific time-periods; unique outlooks on the French involvement in the American War of Independence—a mere blip on Europe's radar while domestic concerns had consumed the political stage at the time—and frequent trips to museums and galleries, and even to England and Amsterdam for weekends. This was _before_ she had studied at _Le Cordon Bleu_, where she had never worked so hard nor had so much fun.

Jason had encouraged her to do something _for her_, something that would help her be happy; he understood it wasn't always so easy for everybody to be happy. Especially in Sophie's family; so she had researched Parisian schools, applied and then asked her parents' permission to go, and her grandmother had hooked her up with an expatriate sorority-sister, with whom Sophie had stayed, and au-paired for her granddaughter's children, teaching them English as they helped refine her French.

Sophie had so much confidence now; she strode through the halls of Rosewood High with her unadorned dark hair, vibrant lipstick and her unique style that had developed in the past year, smiling at people where before she would have dropped her eyes sadly and turned to her locker, shoulders slumped and upset, eyes burning.

It was remarkable what a difference her attitude made, when other people seemed to stop and do a double-take, half-recognising her but disbelieving her to be the same Sophie Hastings who had remained a shadow in the wake of two perfect sisters.

She had learned that being different was _excellent_. And, now, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Melissa hadn't changed; Spencer was still just as strung-out on caffeine, anxious and edgy and pushing herself too hard. Her parents were still Sauron and Madame Kovarian, nothing had changed there.

The only thing that had changed was Sophie, and everything she saw in Rosewood fell short when it came up against her shrewd judgement. She found it difficult to remember why she had ever found it so depressing that she didn't fit in here, didn't have friends or a boyfriend, that she didn't get invited to Noel Kahn's 'famous' parties and that she had never been invited to a school dance. The fact was; she hadn't invited herself to Noel's parties, and she had never had the courage to ask cute Holden Strauss to a dance.

Apparently Holden was still in Portugal; and Noel Kahn's parties weren't that great anyway. After spending over a year sipping wine and snacking on olives and aperitifs in cafés and watching the world go by, downing a few pints of beer for the sake of tripping over herself, smearing her lipstick all over her face while she made out with a total stranger and got really embarrassing photos on _Facebook_ was _not_ what constituted a great Friday-night for her.

All of the things she had thought she wanted in Rosewood now seemed utterly juvenile. What was so great about a stomach-churning hangover and waking up with the sudden horror of wondering whether she needed to take a test for STDs? Anyway, Noel Kahn had always been a bit of a jerk; not being invited to his parties had been at the same time an insult and a reprieve from all that Sophie had hated about Rosewood High.

It was strange to go to school and hear American everywhere she turned. An English friend she had made over the last year was adamant that Sophie spoke _American_ and had been trying to teach her true _English_, and said proudly that Sophie had made immense progress.

And she found it incredibly dull not to actually have to sit and pay attention to everything the teacher and students were saying, because she didn't have to translate it at the same time; she was now so good at French that she could sit and write or type it into English while she heard it, and vice-versa, and sitting in AP History, she found herself drifting off.

Then she realised they were discussing the Revolutions; ideas sparked for her own perspective on the relevance of the American revolution in the eyes of the rest of the known world at the time, drawing on notes she had taken during class last year. Actually excited to put her French education to good use, she left class in a good mood, slipping into the bathroom to check her lipstick; her grandmother used to say no lady "put her face on in public" and she was the one who had taught Sophie how to put on makeup properly in the first place.

"Gorgeous colour," someone remarked, as she used her retractable lip-brush to apply a fresh coat of _Illamasqua_ 'Howl' to her lips. She _adored_ vibrant lipsticks; they were her go-to staple cosmetic, more so than concealer or mascara. She felt like Superwoman when she was wearing her favourite red lipstick; nothing could make her feel bad about herself. She wished she'd had the confidence it took to pull off red lipstick back when Alison DiLaurentis had been torturing her.

It was Hanna; she hadn't said two words to Sophie back, when once upon a time she herself had been on the DiLaurentis Hit-List; 'Hefty Hanna' who loved _Chunky Monkey_ and Justin Beiber, the sweet girl who'd let Alison walk all over her, had once been Sophie's best-friend. Back when it had been just them, and Sophie had climbed into Hanna's bedroom via her window, delivering emergency Chunky Monkey whenever Hanna had been reduced to tears by her parents' arguments or bullying at school…or when she had been forcing herself to throw up. When Alison had coerced her to hurt herself like that, and Hanna had known what she was doing was dangerous.

Now Hanna was skinny, her hair was long and styled, she smelled of sweet fruity perfume and hairspray, her lips glossed and her eyelashes curled.

"Hey," Sophie said, smiling. "Thanks."

"From _Sephora_?"

"Yeah, I went shopping last night," Sophie said, turning back to the mirror to perfect her upper-lip with her brush.

"How was France?" Hanna asked. Sophie sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"It was amazing," Sophie said glumly. Now she was stuck in Rosewood.

"Are you glad to be home?" Hanna smiled.

"No," Sophie answered, and Hanna laughed.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to come back either, if I'd been living in Paris," she chuckled. Sophie nodded, finishing her lips, and she glanced at Hanna.

"You look fantastic, by the way," she said gently. Hanna had always been sweet—to Spencer and her friends, after Alison had collected Hanna like an ornament, leaving Sophie completely friendless—but now she looked _happy_. As happy as Sophie had felt living in Paris.

"Thanks," Hanna beamed. Sophie couldn't remember Hanna ever smiling like that. "Hey, are you going to Noel Kahn's party this weekend?"

"I…don't know," Sophie said, surprised. That sounded almost like an _invitation_; since when had Hanna been in the position to give out invites to _the_ party of the year? She supposed a lot had changed in eighteen months. Without Alison, Hanna had taken up the mantel of Queen.

She was undoubtedly a more benevolent one.

"You should," Hanna smiled. "It's one of Noel's parties, so you know there'll be drama!"

"I…wouldn't know; I've never been to one," Sophie chuckled softly. "I heard they're basically everything that's bad about American high-school parties rolled into one."

"Yeah, pretty much," Hanna laughed. "You should come, see for yourself. Just _promise_ me you'll tell me I can get your bag on sale soon!" Sophie glanced down, noting the bag she had stuffed her things into this morning. Most of her stuff was still in boxes, but she had dragged her _Mulberry_ 'Alexa' bag all over Europe, a small tote she had tucked into her rucksack, taking it out for day-trips.

"Oh… I don't know, actually," she smiled. "My grandma gave it to me a while ago."

"Oh. Cool! Your grandma buys _Mulberry_?" Hanna laughed.

"She's a very fashion-forward grandma," Sophie chuckled. "She gave me my watch and bracelet."

"Gorgeous," Hanna moaned covetously, eyeing the gold-studded brown-leather bracelet and watch adorning her wrists enviously. "They're exactly what Lily wears on _Gossip_ _Girl_. _Hermés_?"

"Yep," Sophie smiled; she _adored_ her _Hermés_ 'Medor' watch and matching 'Collier de Chien' bracelet. Not just because they concealed their wrists; she never took the watch off, and the bracelet made any outfit a little edgier; it made a formal outfit more relaxed, and a casual outfit just a fraction dressier.

"God, I wish my grandma would buy me _Hermés_," Hanna sighed.

"I love your grandmother," Sophie said thoughtfully; when it had just been the two of them, Sophie had looked forward to Grandma Marin's visits to Rosewood; she was a feisty southern belle who didn't take any crap, liked lemonade, pedicures and watching Jason DiLaurentis mowing the lawn shirtless. "Have you seen her lately?"

"A while ago," Hanna shrugged slightly. "It's weird—she seems to like my mom more than she does my dad."

"I'll probably love my future in-laws more than my parents too," Sophie sighed. Hanna laughed.

"So did they drag you back to Rosewood?" she asked.

"Kicking and screaming," Sophie sighed, tucking away her lip-brush and lipstick.

"Are you gonna go back?" Hanna asked curiously.

"Absolutely!" Sophie laughed. "I'm not staying here any longer than I have to!"

"Well, when you get your own chateau in France, make sure the guest-room is ready for me!" Hanna chuckled, and Sophie laughed as she followed her out of the bathroom. "I'll expect the full _Marie Antoinette_ party treatment." Sophie laughed.

"I don't know about a chateau; a one-room flat would be perfect," Sophie said honestly; she wanted her tiny little one-room place in Montmartre with one of those beautiful tall windows and a little flowerbox filled with herbs, within walking distance of boulangeries and her favourite fromagerie, within cycling distance of the bi-weekly produce market. That sounded like Sophie's idea of heaven. "I already have one all picked out I'd love to live in. You could sleep on the balcony!" Hanna laughed.

"I don't think so," she chuckled. "I don't think I'd fit."

"Nonsense; you're tiny now," Sophie said, and Hanna glowed with pride. "You got skinny, and I put on like twenty pounds."

"What're you talking about?" Hanna laughed. "You and Spencer are both so skinny!"

"Cycling around Europe helped work off most of the weight I put on," Sophie chuckled. "The first month I was away, I put on twenty pounds!" Hanna laughed.

"Sure," she smirked disbelievingly; but Sophie was being honest.

"Most if it went into my bra, thank God," Sophie said, and Hanna chuckled. After drowning her _fromage blanc_ with fresh cream and a sprinkle of sugar each morning for breakfast, the baguettes and the rich stews and soups, the exquisite patisserie she had enjoyed, cooking snacks for Aurélie and Loïs every afternoon, nipping into fromageries and chocolatiers and sampling her way through the fresh produce markets…it had all added up. And that was _before_ Sophie had learned to cook.

But she was glad she was no longer as skinny as her twin; looking at sylphlike Spencer was almost painful. And, Sophie was the first to admit, she rather loved her new cup-size.

"I'll see you later," Sophie said, and Hanna smiled as she strutted off. She had a new bounce to her step and she strutted her stuff like the school hall was a Milanese fashion-week runway.

Sophie's last lesson was Art class. In the last few days, she had come to realise that she would actually start to live solely for the hour she spent in Art. In math, she was a mediocre student, though she was perfectly capable of keeping her accounts and balancing her cheque-book, and was excellent at budgeting; she had already studied the course material they were going to cover in English in-depth, and in French! She had already completed her mandatory science credits and she was already fluent in French and no longer took a language class.

Her parents were _thrilled_ that all she was studying was Art, English Lit, AP History and P.E. She had just handed in her application to take several evening classes at Hollis, and she wanted to put up an ad in the _Rosewood Observer_ for catering desserts for small parties, and wanted to find some babysitting jobs, and maybe a part-time afterschool or weekend job.

Sophie had her priorities in a completely different order to the rest of her 'family'. Even to Spencer, the only member of her immediate family she could stand; but that was Spencer. She tried so hard to be the best at everything, and did everything with far more integrity than Melissa; Spencer was a _nice_ girl. She was scary to newcomers, being so accomplished and driven, but she felt the need to be, due to the pressure from their parents; Sophie had learned not to care what Mr and Mrs Hastings thought or expected from her, because no matter what she did, she would always be compared to and overshadowed by _Melissa_. It was _all_ about _Melissa_; Spence and Sophie were just superfluous. Anything they accomplished, Melissa had probably already done it and done it _better_.

So when Sophie set her bag down on her table in the Art classroom, she didn't feel bad about enjoying being able to open her polished wood watercolour paint case, bringing out her artist's drawing-board, on which was masking-taped a large piece of finest-quality watercolour paper. It was a painting, half-finished from yesterday, of the Evil Queen from Snow White. She had put her own spin on the witch, making her a golden-skinned white-blonde with stormy grey eyes, dressed all in silver with a diamond- and pearl-sewn Elizabethan standing collar like a starburst haloing her face, a headdress based on the ridiculously gorgeous oversized sunburst one Natalie Dormer wore in _The Tudors_, and long strings of pearls over a diamond-sewn stomacher and flowing, shimmering silver silk-chiffon underskirt.

Sophie had been inspired to rework the most-beloved fairytales, and some of her favourite obscure ones, away from the common spin _Disney_ had given the princesses, and she wanted to create absolutely sumptuous illustrations for all of her favourite fairytales, inspired by her favourite artists, Edmund Dulac, Arthur Rackman, Warick Goble, Kay Nielsen and Willy Pogany. She had begun to do research on fairytales, collecting up illustration books and sourcing the original transcripts of the most beloved fairytales, and had been slowly working her way through studies of different characters.

She had finished several for _The Wild Swans_, her favourite a dreamy, jewel-toned and moonlit painting of the silent princess, wearing a decadent medieval gown with intricate Renaissance sleeves, a glittering Elizabethan collar, and long, long hair bound in two very long plaits with gold thread and pearls, a headdress glittering on her head, borne away during a starry midnight on an intricate carpet by swans with elegant silver circlets on their heads, flying over a sleepy, dew-glittering and spider-webbed meadow of thistles in which the fairy Queen holds court.

She had done studies of lots of her favourite princesses and heroines with completely different features to the _Disney_ princesses: Cinderella was a tall, freckled brunette of half-Malayan descent with skin like whipped cinnamon and sapphire eyes; Sleeping Beauty had decadent cocoa skin, soft caramel-brunette hair, silvery eyes and rose-pink cheeks; she had made Snow White almost Asian in appearance, with long black hair that curled softly to her lower-back, flushed cheeks and very fine eyelashes framing green eyes; the woodsman in Red Riding Hood was a strong, olive-skinned curly brunette with blue eyes, and she had done several different studies of Rumpelstiltskin, with goats' legs, a wiry beard, long curling boots or an Elizabethan ruff and pearl earring. She had also done a background detail of Beauty and the Beast, with the enchanted rose kept not in a glass bell-jar, but safe in inbuilt rosewood curiosity-cabinets in a special room in the crumbling chateau, alongside a collection of jewelled eggs, designed by Sophie, not copied from the Imperial Faberge collection but inspired by them; she had based the cabinets on her interpretation of the decorating style of the Maple Room of the Alexander Palace in Russia, and the interiors of Chateau du Biron in the Dordogne.

She had printed off pictures of all of the _Disney_ princesses and heroes to reference, so she could make sure her illustrations were completely different; she pulled her overstuffed diary out of her little bag. In Paris, she had come across a stationer's that sold _Paperthinks_ diaries with high-quality ivory pages of recycled paper, bound with recycled-leather in a rainbow of colours. She had bought two of each colour; she had gone through nine already, the poppy-red, fuchsia, rose, orange and sunflower-yellow ones; now she was on to the first lemon-yellow one, and like the sunflower-yellow ones, every time she brought out the diary she felt a spark of delight.

Yellow made her happy.

She opened the now-fat diary, half-filled with vintage postcards; strips from glossy negative contact-sheets; watercolour paintings; magazine cuttings; printouts from the internet and business-cards; loose papers and notes, doodles and handmade cards and letters. Scattered throughout were hand-illustrated recipes and photographs and portraits of the sweet little girls, Aurélie and Loïs, whom she had au-paired for in Paris; landscapes of places in Europe she had travelled; and photos taken from her friends' camera-phones, printed using a _Polaroid_ Po-Go (the sweetest and coolest little gadget!), copies of the paper-dolls she had modelled after and gifted to Aurélie and Loïs for Bastille Day and birthday presents, and a packet of Royal Wedding Day stamps a Canadian friend had sent to her.

She turned to the list of notes she had made in one of the later entries in her diary, the one in which she had listed each of the fairytales she wanted to illustrate, and the characters from each that she wanted to paint studies for. On the list were: _The Wild Swans_; _Snow White_; _Rapunzel_; _Rumpelstiltskin_; _The Little Mermaid_; _Cinderella_; _The Frog Prince_; _Sleeping Beauty_; _Beauty and the Beast_; _Princess and the Pea_; _Red Riding Hood_; _Twelve Dancing Princesses_; _Puss in Boots_; _Bluebeard_; _The Snow Queen_; _Thumbelina_; _The White Snake_; _Eros and Psyche_; _Diamonds and Toads_; _Biancabella and the Snake_; _Tom Thumb_; _The Tin Soldier_; _Hansel and Gretel_; _Goldilocks and the Tree Bears_; _Jack and the Beanstalk_ and _The Ugly Duckling_.

She had done studies for Snow White, Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty and a very pretty Goldilocks, inspired by the young Grand Duchess Maria of Russia and her great volumes of hair and enormous blue eyes, and as the rest of the class gathered at the various four-person tables, chatting and sharing end-of-the-day snacks and drinks, she went over the illustrations she had done for some of Bluebeard's previous wives, the gown-styles for the twelve princesses, the vivid fuchsia frog from The Frog Prince, designs for Beast's enchanted rose, the witch's gingerbread house, the Snow Queen's sleigh and white snow-hens and the tin-soldier and ballerina. Now, she ticked the Evil Queen off her list of Snow White characters she was trying to paint with her fine artist's pen, and glanced up as the room grew a little hushed, compared to its usual anarchic noise.

Toby Cavanaugh stood in the doorway, looking around tentatively at the seats available; Sophie had specifically chosen an empty table so she would have room to spread out. She glanced around, noting that anybody who had an empty chair wouldn't make eye-contact with Toby. She glanced up at Toby, who noticed just as she had, and she caught his attention.

"You can…sit here, if you want, Toby," she said softly, and he gave her a very shy, tentative smile as he slipped his backpack off his shoulder and perched on the chair diagonally opposite her.

"Thanks," he said softly, and Sophie smiled slightly and nodded, bringing out her case of watercolour paints, a handful of jam-jars and her paint-palette. She noted that Toby had the same set of fine black artist's pens as she did, but when he opened his sketchbook, there was little colour in his sketches, just very fine line-work.

She spent the first fifteen minutes of class finishing the Evil Queen painting, setting it aside to dry while she opened her journal to one of the later entries, where she had painted a few preliminary studies of Rapunzel, what she wanted her to look like and wear in the watercolours she was planning. In one painting, Rapunzel played with her long, long hair, smiling sweetly, swishing her elegant Renaissance skirts and gazing at the little bluebird Sophie had painted, about to fly into her outstretched hands.

"Red hair?" Sophie glanced up; Toby was gazing at her diary, head canted to one side; he had turned around her easel to examine the Evil Queen, and was now gazing at the image of Rapunzel, all her long, long hair coiled and spread around her toes. "I thought Rapunzel was supposed to be blonde?"

"I wanted to make her a little different," Sophie replied, smiling softly.

"Are these for a project?" Toby asked, glancing at the Evil Queen painting again.

"Um…yeah. A personal project; nothing to do with school," Sophie said, cleaning her brushes carefully.

"What's the project?" Toby asked interestedly, glancing from the Evil Queen to her diary.

"Well, I've had this…this kind of dream," Sophie said, smiling shyly, "I read this article in a newspaper a while ago, about this small company in England that hand-binds and numbers each of the books they publish. "And I got this idea that, you know, you can't get truly entrancing fairytale books anymore, nothing like Edmund Dulac or Willy Pogany, so I want to illustrate fairytales, and hand-make the books and sell them. Maybe online; I have a blog, and people already buy my prints and paper-dolls. So I'd love to see how many people would want to be able to buy handmade fairytale books."

Toby's smile was soft but it came directly from his glass-blue eyes, illuminating his face. "I think that's a great idea," he said softly. "How many paintings have you done?"

"Well, I'm still working on studies of the different characters, and different settings and details," Sophie said. "But when I get a project I get really, really into it, and now that I'm settled for the new school-year, I'll be able to do a lot more painting."

"Where have you been?" Toby asked curiously.

"I was in Paris for a year, at school," Sophie said, glancing at Toby. "And I spent the past two summers travelling around Europe."

"Wow," Toby said softly, after a brief but warm smile. "You must've found a lot of inspiration while you were travelling."

"Oh, I did," Sophie chuckled softly. "To say I returned to Rosewood unwillingly is an understatement." Toby nodded, and Sophie glanced at him as he examined the Evil Queen.

Jason had called her every day the first summer she had lived in Paris with her grandmother's sorority-sister; early that first July he had told her about the fire at the Cavanaugh house, that Alison had told him _Spencer_ had thrown a lit stink-bomb into the Cavanaughs' garage, and even threatened Toby to keep it a secret and take the blame for her and the other girls.

She and Jason _both_ knew that story had been a complete lie. Jason may have spent the whole summer stoned, but he wasn't stupid, and he knew his sister: if anyone had threatened Toby to make him take the fall for an accident that might have included a criminal charge of manslaughter if his stepsister had been killed in the fire, it was Alison DiLaurentis.

"I, um… I heard about what happened," she said softly, and Toby glanced up. "That you got shipped off to reform-school." Toby looked down at his sketchbook. "I'm really sorry, Toby."

"You're sorry?" Toby said, glancing up at her, perplexed.

"Yeah, um… I just…want you to know that even if the rest of the town believe it was your fault… I know it wasn't you," she said softly, and Toby stared at her.

"If it wasn't me, who would it have been?" he said softly, not looking at her. Sophie gazed at him, holding eye-contact when he chanced a glance up, and she raised an eyebrow expressively.

"I lived next-door to Alison DiLaurentis since I was _five_," she said softly. "She told her brother it was Spencer." Toby glanced up, staring.

"She said that?" Toby said softly, and Sophie nodded. "Why would she do that?"

"I don't know," Sophie sighed, shaking her head. "I stopped trying to figure out Alison DiLaurentis' motives a _long_ time ago." Toby sighed softly, shaking his head.

"I feel sorry for her family," he said quietly. Sophie nodded. She hadn't been back in Rosewood for Alison's funeral; she wasn't sure she would have gone anyway, even if she had. If Jason had asked her…she would have gone, just for emotional support, but she couldn't describe her feelings over Alison DiLaurentis' murder, even to herself.

To say she was glad Alison was dead was incredibly cruel; but Alison had been relentlessly cruel to Sophie since they were five years old: between her and Melissa they had terrorised Sophie since she was a baby, had pushed her to depression so total and consuming, only Jason had pulled her out of it. By the skin of her teeth. To say that she was sorry that Alison was dead wasn't a lie; her disappearance had torn apart her family, but her disappearance had also prompted Jason to clean up. He was no longer the burned-out stoner he had been, was a responsible and very thoughtful, kind person. Something Alison had _never_ been.

Toby's life wasn't the only one Alison DiLaurentis' sociopathic machinations had almost destroyed.

Despite some serious flaws in judgement, telling her about some things that gave her a moment's pause, Jason was a good guy. He had saved Sophie's life, when he was completely stoned and miserable from being lonely and aimless; and despite that, he had helped her to find ways to make her life worth living, when she hadn't believed it was.

Jason had cleaned up and now lived a life of integrity and kindness; he had always had to be reactive, defending himself against Alison, but now that the weight of that had lifted, the only thing he had to live with was the legacy of his sister's murder, and wondering whether his habits had had something to do with what happened to Alison.

But what happened to her didn't make Alison an angel; and threatening Toby into a year at reform-school was a reminder of how she had treated people.

"Yeah, I know," Sophie said softly.

"I didn't know you were in speaking terms with Alison DiLaurentis' brother," Toby said thoughtfully.

"For a while now," Sophie nodded. "He was… my only friend. Before."

"Before you moved to France?" Toby said, and Sophie nodded.

"He was the one who encouraged me to go to Paris," Sophie smiled. "He said, 'What do you really want to do, what'll make you happy?' and he helped me pack my suitcase." Toby smiled.

"I wish I could have gone to Paris instead of reform-school," he sighed softly.

"Except you probably wanted to get out of there; I do _not_ want to be back here," Sophie sighed, taking out an incredibly fine pencil to start sketching another painting; she wanted to do the dwarves from Snow White, and brought out the pictures she had printed off the internet of _The Lord of the Rings_ and _The Hobbit_ dwarves for reference and inspiration.

"So why did you come back?" Toby asked gently.

"Mr and Mrs Hastings pulled the lawyer-parent card," Sophie sighed. "When they want something done, it happens, no matter what the feelings are of the other people involved. What about you? Why are you back in Rosewood?"

"I was tired of running," Toby said quietly, and Sophie nodded slightly, watching the way Toby's features betrayed more than his subtle voice. They were completely opposite; him tired of running from Rosewood and wanting to come back, her tired of Rosewood and wanting to run away.

"I could stand for just a little bit more," she sighed. "If only until I turn eighteen."

"Why's that?"

"I can get out of my parents' house. _Legally_," Sophie said, sighing. Eighteen seemed such a monumental age, so _old_ and mature, but she had only until April and she could get the hell out from under her parents' negligent-tyrannical rule over the House of Hastings.

"How long do you have to wait?" Toby asked.

"April," Sophie said, sketching away carefully. "What about you?"

"I'm already eighteen," Toby said, smiling softly.

"Yeah, I, um… You're a year older, right?" Sophie said, and Toby nodded.

"I should be in the senior class," he said softly, sighing.

"An extra year of high-school," Sophie sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry." Toby shot her a soft, quirky smile.

"It won't be for long," he said, smiling.

"Why's that?"

"While I was away at school, I took carpentry classes," Toby said, and Sophie nodded. "I want to do something with that. Earn some money to get a place of my own."

"That sounds…just right," Sophie smiled. "That's kind of what I want, too. Except, without the carpentry; I took a cooking course at _Le Cordon Bleu_ at the beginning of this summer, so I'm really keen to do something with what I learned."

"_Le Cordon Bleu_? Isn't that the best cooking school in Europe?" Toby asked, eyes widening, and Sophie nodded, smiling.

"So you can understand when I say I'm really proud of graduating from there as a fully-certified chef," she smiled. Toby smiled.

"That is a big accomplishment," he said softly, smiling.

"Well, try telling that to my parents," Sophie sighed glumly.

"They didn't approve?"

"They think I spent my summer lying on beaches and getting sozzled," Sophie said, glowering. "Spencer was interning at the Mayor's office, taking classes at Hollis _and_ refurbishing the barn into a loft-conversion; and I went to cooking school and camped around Europe. If you don't get a reference or an award for what you've put your efforts into, it's a waste of time." Toby frowned thoughtfully. "What about you? Why are you so keen to put your carpentry skills to good use? What do your parents think of your plan?"

Toby sighed heavily, staring glumly at his sketchbook. "My parents are the reason I want to get out on my own," he said, and Sophie nodded.

"Yeah, I can understand that," she said. "I'd forgotten all the pleasantries that come with being near my family again; the stomach-cramps, the nausea, the light-headedness, the sense of suffocation and the soul-crushing depression." She sighed, sketching away; a scene of seven burly, bearded dwarves piling in through a cottage-door took shape. Toby chuckled softly.

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

"It is. And that's _without_ the Battle of Hastings going on between my sisters," Sophie sighed.

"The Battle of Hastings?"

"England, 1066 A.D., William the Conqueror invaded Britain," Sophie smiled. "To put it into modern context, my eldest sister always has to be the centre of attention, and if something bad happens she _really_ plays the victim-card. She's making all our lives horrendous. And my parents just let her. In fact, they encourage her."

"Encourage her how?"

"They indulge her; every time her lower-lip quivers, they do whatever she wants them to do," Sophie sighed. "They always have, ever since I was born. And they _always_ take her side. Doesn't leave me and Spence with much of a feeling of having a safety-net. You're supposed to feel safe and protected at home, right?"

"Right," Toby said softly, and something dark flitted across his eyes as he glanced down at his sketchbook.

"Which is why I loved Paris," Sophie smiled. "Even in a huge city in a foreign country, I felt more at-home than I'd ever done here." She thought on that; Jason was a huge part of why she had felt so comfortable in Paris. The summer she had moved there, he had called her every day to check in with her; then every two days once she had settled down, and they still used Skype to talk if they wanted to have a long conversation, and he was the reason she had started a blog. His idea, but she had decided the format and what she was going to blog about, so he could keep up with whatever was going on in her life.

Jason DiLaurentis had sort of become an adopted big-brother; since the moment he had found her, they had formed a very strong bond, one that transcended distance. That bond was strong and strengthening, encouraging and supportive in a way Sophie had never experienced within her immediate family. Not even with Spencer; not since they were kids. Since before Alison had worked the wedge between them, inviting Spencer to slumber-parties and _forbidding_ Hanna or Spencer from associating with Sophie in public, even going so far as to prevent Sophie hanging out with her twin-sister when they were alone in their own home.

"Will you go back?" Toby asked.

"I want to," Sophie said, sighing. "But it'll cost me. And I don't want to be like Voldemort and suck up to my parents for a fresh trust-fund cheque all my life."

"Voldemort?" Toby said, quirking an eyebrow.

"My eldest sister, Melissa," Sophie said, shivering. "She's pure evil." Toby laughed.

"I'm sure she's not," he smiled.

"Oh, no; she is. Have you read _Harry Potter_? Everybody loved Tom Riddle when he was young and handsome and Head Boy," Sophie said, clearing her throat softly, and reaching into her bag for a _SoBe_ pomegranate drink. "But he'd already murdered his father and grandparents before he even left school. And Melissa was homecoming queen and student-body president. D'you see where I'm going with this?" Toby chuckled.

"I know all about evil sisters," Toby said, looking very sad suddenly. Sophie glanced at him.

"You mean Jenna?" she asked. She hadn't had much to do with Jenna Marshall; but her impression was that, like Melissa, she hid her brutally repulsive soul in either a diary or a painting in the attic, giving her parents sweet smiles and sucking up and making it seem like she was an angel. Jenna had been bullied by Alison DiLaurentis, too, but Sophie had never been _blinded_. Only because of that did Sophie feel a little bit of sympathy for Jenna Marshall; but Jenna was no angel.

Sophie set her pencil down and sat back, examining the very fine sketch of seven bushy-bearded, helmeted dwarves in chainmail and cloaks with hatchets and axes at their belts, buckets filled with unrefined gold ore and uncut gemstones. She had a sudden idea for a dwarves' jewel-smith and weapons workshop, and added it to the list of ideas for Snow White scenes she wanted to paint.

"Maybe you should start looking for jobs already," Sophie said, glancing up at Toby. "Do you have an idea what kind of carpentry you're looking into specialising in? Construction, or furniture-building? Or, hey, you could do _dolls' houses_!" Toby chuckled.

"Dolls' houses?" he smiled.

"Yeah. When I was a kid, I found a book on Queen Mary's dolls' house, in my grandmother's book collection; I was in _love_ with it," Sophie smiled. "I never had a dolls' house, though."

"You didn't?"

"Melissa had one," Sophie said, sighing. "It was beautiful. But she'd never play with it, and she'd refuse to let me play with it, just out of spite." She sighed again, shaking her head. Melissa was a _bitch_. Even if she hadn't been proved to be a Dark sorcerer bent on splitting her soul seven times to achieve immortality, she was _evil_. She was that pretty, veneered kind that hid how _ugly_ she truly was. She sighed again; "She fractured my forefinger when she found me playing with one of the dolls; my grandmother was so furious."

"Jenna goes berserk if I touch her things," Toby sighed, looking down at his sketchbook. "I don't like being back in that house. I spend most of my time at the Apple-Rose Grille."

"It's okay there," Sophie nodded. "It was always the girls' hangout, back before… Well, I never felt comfortable going there… And it's not the same, sitting by yourself."

"That's true," Toby said softly. He glanced up at her, holding eye-contact. "You're different."

"I'm _different_?" Sophie said, glancing at Toby.

"The last time I saw you at school, you were always so sad," Toby said softly. He fiddled with his pen. "I always wanted to ask you to sit with me at lunch, to make you feel better, I just…never got the courage to."

"You did?" Sophie said softly, gazing at Toby. He nodded. She glanced down at her sketch. School had been horrific for her; always bullied by Alison, not even stuck up for by her own twin-sister, her once-best friend taken from her, and her math lessons had been difficult; her History and English grades never up to where her parents thought the standard should be; she hated Science; and she sat alone at a table in Art, upset and listening to her iPod because no one would come over and talk to her. And at home, it was worse.

Her life had been so terrible, so _lonely_ and unbearable back then; if she had known that someone had _seen_ how unhappy she was, that someone had noticed, that they might realise something was wrong when she didn't show up to school… She had thought only Jason had noticed… She glanced at Toby. "I wish you had."

Toby smiled softly. "Like I said; you're different now." Sophie nodded; some days, she had to work at it, but she was such a different person now to the girl she had been when she had let Melissa and Alison DiLaurentis bully her into a consuming depression that made it difficult to get out of bed every morning, sometimes even to just put one foot in front of the other.

The bell rang for the end of the lesson; consumed by thoughts on her past life, and with talking to Toby, she hadn't noticed the rest of the class packing up their stuff. She sighed, rinsing off her brushes, and put away her palette and paints, examining her sketch one more time before tucking it into her fat, sturdy black plastic portfolio case, still taped to her artists' board.

"By the way," Toby said softly; he had already tucked his pens and sketchbook into his bag, glancing back at her at the door to the classroom as she tucked her things back into her bag. "That lipstick colour looks very pretty on you." Sophie glanced up, and smiled, surprised and flattered, feeling herself blush a little.

"Thank you," she said softly, and Toby smiled before walking out into the hall.

She tucked her fat diary into her bag, checked the narrow but deep locker in which her things were stored overnight was locked properly, and made her way out of the classroom, following in Toby's footsteps up to a point, meeting Spencer at her locker.

* * *

**A.N.**: First chapter, to get a feel of who Sophie is and put in a few gentle hints about _secrets_ she might have, even if _A_ isn't going after her. Maybe they will later on, I'm not sure, but I think I'll have her be someone who's removed from the situation but can still see what's going on, and she'll have the right memories and a few connections that will help the Liars figure out what happened to Alison. Please review!


	2. Author's Note

**A.N.**

After much consideration, attempting to clean out my profile of stagnant posts, and compiling a mystery PowerPoint for an unnamed character, I got back onto Pretty Little Liars, and decided that _A Whiter Shade of Pale_ needs rewriting.

I will put a lot of changes into this story, once I rename it: I intend to give Aria an elder-brother/twin, because Mike just bores me, and seemingly has no real point for existing in the story except to reveal that Garrett had one of Jenna's candleholders in his house.

Anyway, so I will be giving Aria a brother who looks exactly like Steven R McQueen (i.e. Jeremy from _The Vampire Diaries_) because he is the _tastiest_! And hopefully this character will bring some credibility/likeableness to the Montgomery family, as Aria definitely is not my favourite, and the only family-member I like is Ella!

Anyway, I also intend, as in _Whiter Shade_, to give Spencer a twin-sister who lived in Paris for a year. After reading _The Year of Secret Assignments_ by Jaclyn Moriarty, I got inspired to do _letters_ as part of a story, and this rewrite provided a wonderful opportunity.

Anyway, I need some help finalising my choices for names for the Montgomery brother. The choices are as follows: Thomas; Adam; Henry; Noah; Gideon.

I'm preferential to Thomas, Adam and Gideon. Head to my profile to vote!

Please look out for my new story, which I will upload under a new title, before I delete this story.

Thank you,

mellowenglishgal


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